Joltin' Jet
by inertbiscuit
Summary: As the cyborgs prepare, Jet reminisces a past baseball game.


_This is actually the first fanfic I ever finished, over 1 year ago. Never posted it because it is supposed to be a prequel story about the cyborgs forced into a wacky baseball tournament against Black Ghost. Maybe someday I'll write 'Cyborgs in the Outfield'. Or I might title it 'Bad News Cyborgs' XD In honor of the Major League Baseball 2010 starting, I'll post for your enjoyment._

_Focus is on Jet, who is reminiscing on baseball games from his youth._

_Cyborg 009 belongs to Shotaro Ishinomori_

* * *

"Here you go 002."

"Oh... thank you."

003 smiled in return, and continued around the living room, passing out the crisp, new uniforms.

His hand drifted across the bold red with gold-trimmed "Cyborgs" embroidered across the jersey front. The cap was in the same blazing red tone with a gold "C". He placed the cap on his head while he unfolded the jersey to inspect the red and gold-trimmed stripe on the sides and the number 2 on the back. Not a single stitch out of place, the craftsmanship was top notch. They were even designed to the same level as their cyborg uniforms, tear and flame resistant, and can even withstand acceleration. His mouth turned in a wry expression. They'll need it in this game.

A baseball uniform. A real, honest-to-goodness baseball uniform. The first baseball uniform he ever will wear. Jet just couldn't keep himself from touching it, amazed he had such a thing in his possession. Sure, it was no black pinstripes, but he'll wear it with pride nonetheless. Back in the Bronx, he never played organized ball, that was for the kids with money and family egos to play. But that doesn't mean he had a hard time finding kids to play with. Whether an empty lot, or even a lonely street, the space called to the Italian children for blocks around. Each game a kid would find the opportunity to rise above the others, to become Joltin' Joe DiMaggio or Babe Ruth that day.

"I can hit anything you throw! Just call me Joltin' Jet!" yelled the red head at the plate. He eyed the locked gate behind the center fielder, seeing the path of his home run.

The second baseman sneered and kicked at the cardboard second base. "Jet you loser! DiMaggio's washed up, Mantle's the man now!"

"DiMaggio would wipe the floor with that pipsqueak back in 48!"

The pitch came at Jet, he swung fiercely, aiming for the fence. The ragball snapped into the catcher's grasp. Jet spun onto his rear end. The opposing team laughing manically. "If that's how the Yankee Clipper hit, good thing he retired!"

"Shut up!" Jet stood with as much dignity as a 7 year-old could muster. He resumed his hitting stance. "Just throw the darn ball!"

Again, the ball screamed towards the plate. Jet swung again. TWACK! The ball flew backwards over some trashcans. The laughter picked up again.

"That wouldn't be a home run in a phone booth!"

The Bronx youth wordlessly resumed his stance, concentrating everything on the pitcher. The ragball was retrieved and thrown to the center of the diamond. The pitcher could not resist one last quip. "Here it comes Joltin' Jet, show us your stuff!" Jet just stared harder. The pitcher raised the ball into the air and flung his body forward, releasing the ball towards the plate.

Jet stepped forward, with all his might, powering his swing--

"Hey, 002, hurry up, we're leaving soon." Jet jerked his head out of the memory, looking at his Japanese friend. He wore his new uniform with the same determined face he had before any other mission. He also saw that 006 and 007 were in the outfits as well. 007 going on about the impracticality of the stirrups.

"...Right." Jet said slowly, removing his shirt to change. He brightened at Joe. "This is going to be quite the ball game. Can't say I've ever played in one as important as this one. Though when I was young, we had our pride to play for, that was pretty important too."

Joe smiled. "I remember some games like that when I was little. I've never played any organized ball, just games with kids that come around and play with us orphans, and some stuff at school. They always stuck me at pitcher. I'm not sure why though, I wasn't that good." Joe shyly put his arm behind his head, a light flush on his cheeks. Jet gave him a playful punch, his face a mixture of annoyance and wit.

"Hey," Jet finished buttoning his jersey, "how are we supposed to win if you don't think you're good?" Jet's expression relaxed, turning his eyes away from Joe. We watched Pyunma receive ground balls in the front yard. "Joe, I've watched you pitch all week. As long as you keep your arm loose and not overthrow it, you'll strike guys out left and right."

Joe smiled. "Thanks Jet. Your knowledge of the game has really helped everyone this week. I mean I know how to play, but you know things like how to hit in certain situations and the best ways to field." He paused. That was true when Jet wasn't yelling and throwing things at the team he thought to himself wryly. "I know I'm going to hit better than I ever have thanks to those hitting stance tips you gave me. Did you learn all that just by playing ball with the neighbor kids?"

Jet's eyes grew a little more distant, his expression still warm. "I guess you could say that.."

"002! Must you?!" cried Françoise. Jet froze, he didn't notice she entered the room. He still had his uniform trousers around his knees, his boxers in plain sight. Jet's eyes as wide as the baseballs she held.

He closed his eyes, quickly regaining his cool. "H-Hey, not my fault you're gawking around!" he snapped, pulling his trousers to his waist, tucking in the shirt.

Francoise huffed at the flyer's typical bravado. She forced herself to soften. "009, can you help 004 and 005 load the cars? They could use you too 002 when you finish."

Jet cleared his throat. "Alright, I'll catch up in a minute 009." Joe nodded and went off, snickering, unable to keep his enjoyment of Jet's embarrassment to himself.

Jet sat down to put on his socks and stirrups, his cheeks still flushed. That was the first time he'd been caught with his pants down literally instead of only figuratively. Though, he might prefer the literal version he thought devilishly. He'd was so lost in his thoughts of the past he couldn't quip a flirty comeback in time to Françoise. I'd been so long since he thought of those late summer afternoons in the city. Especially of that particular day.

The walk home in the waning light was particularly long, he had to keep his head down on the pavement so passers-by could not see the pair of frustrated tears that escaped his eyes. He'd almost made it to walk up his building's steps when someone called, "Here, catch!"

Jet jerked his head up in time to see the ball descending on his right. He dropped his mitt, side-stepped and got his hands up in time to stop the ball. He stared at it for several long moments, barely noticing the sting of catching the ball bare-handed. A tall man stepped beside him and retrieved the ball.

"Nice catch." The man's large free hand rested on top of Jet's head, scratching lightly. "Just like Joltin' Joe. As soon as the ball leaves the bat, never take you eyes off it." He gave one last scratch and removed his hand, Jet did not raise his head. "Did you manage to catch some of the fly balls this time?"

Jet jerked his head upwards, eager to share. "Of course I did! I caught every single ball that came my way, even a few that slowpoke Anthony should've got!" What little pride swelled into Jet with that statement deflated quickly. "But... I-I couldn't hit anyone's pitches. At best I'd foul them off. I-" the frustration of his voice became tears in his eyes.

The man looked wordlessly at Jet and drew a breath. "I can show you how to hit, if you want to hit like Joe DiMaggio or Babe Ruth that is." Jet looked the man in the eye. "If you trust what I tell you, you can."

Hope entered his eyes as a tear left. "I... I can- can hit just like Joe?" A smile grew on the man's face. He reached beside the building's stained brick steps and produced a bat. He handed it to Jet.

The instructor started the explanation. "The most important thing, just like catching, is to keep your eye on the ball." The man stood behind Jet to position him properly. "It all starts with your hitting stance, keep your feet about shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent. Bend over the plate slightly. This should give you perfect balance to watch everything the pitcher and the ball does." Jet sharply nodded his head. This does feel more comfortable than what he normally does, his torso felt more stable.

"Practice watching people throw the ball like this." The man leaned over Jet to hold the bat with him. "Watch as much as you can, the angle of the pitcher's arm, what his hand looks like when he releases it. The way the ball spins as it comes to the plate, is it slicing away or towards you. Hey now! There's no need to tense up." The man paused, and softened. "It takes practice to get this right, Joe had to practice a lot to hit like this too. So you have to practice too." Jet relaxed some, the man reassured the boy by rubbing his shoulders.

The instructor grabbed the ball again and walked a little way, Jet just noticed he had a few more baseballs as well. He turned to face Jet. "How about some batting practice, we'll do this on what evenings I can. We'll go over what you need to do with your hands and swing then. You better be here okay?" Jet shook his head earnestly.

Jet shook his head over the memory, tying his shoes. All the lessons of life taught to him by that horrible man, who he hated with every shred of his being, lessons like from that day helped them to fulfill this mission. He shared that same knowledge with his team, his friends. He will continue to distrust and hate him, but that memory will be safe from those emotions.

Impatience made itself heard from outside, coming from the German. "Let's go 002!"

"If you've got your pants on now, that is!"

He was ready for Françoise this time. "You keep your shirt on and I'll keep my pants on!" he playfully yelled. Laughs and snickers erupted outside, GB by far the loudest. Though Jet guessed a slug to the head silenced him. He grabbed the last of the equipment bags and headed out the door.

"Don't worry guys! You've got Joltin' Jet in your outfield, trust me, I won't let anything fall!"


End file.
